


Strangers In The Dark

by Averia



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: As One Timeline, Developing Relationship, Family, Gen, Guilt, Injury Recovery, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Mystery, New 52, Pre-New 52, Pre-Relationship, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-07-12 18:10:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16000604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/Averia
Summary: “If you need me, I’ll stay.”Once Gotham’s population was eight million strong, then earthquakes transformed it into No Man’s Land. Only three million remained. Years later the city plummets under a million during The Joker’s Last Stand, not that anyone knew it would be the last. A new enemy rises from the ashes, one that rips the family apart, and Dick awakens from his coma only to find himself caught in the middle of it all.





	1. The Joker's Last Stand

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been on my mind for a long time, actually I’ve been trying to get it out as a one-shot for about three years. Ha...ha...ha.... I finally had to admit defeat. A multichapter it is!
> 
> I’m still undecided about how far the relationship between Bruce and Dick will progress, which is why the relationship tags are a mess. We’ll just have to see how it goes. For the most part, the story will deal with platonic feelings, so if it does come to a clear romance story it will absolutely be a slow burn.
> 
> The story stands and ten chapters are planned but not written, which is why the number might change.
> 
> I'm keeping this at "Mature" for now, tell me if you think it should be "Explicit".
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy reading! :D

 ♪♫♪  In spring the ring was made

                  In summer we turned to hate

                                              By fall the city sang

                                                               that winter had begun.               

                                                                **Oh, my love is dead.**

                                                               Tear it down,

                                                                               _da da,_

                                                               tear it down,

                                                                              the Joker said.  ♪♫♪

 

The explosion erupted beside them; Dick could hear Tim scream as he covered the smaller body with his own from any flying projectiles. His ears were ringing, his tongue coated with blood and dust. He blinked - hands and knees on the ground. Tim was right in front of him, fingers digging frantically into Dick’s face, screaming at him as if they were parted by infinity. Dick pried the fingers loose. He snapped at him to calm down while he struggled to rise on unsteady feet.

The wall closer to the source of the explosion was gone and the singing man was dead, his body lost. They had heard variations of the song for days, always the same ending, but never the same reason and never the same destruction.

It had started with a gun, like so often, and Dick knew in his bones that this was the final act. The lyrics had fallen silent but the song went on in its new chaotic way.

"O, what have we got?"

His voice was rough, his body hurt, but there was no time to remain still.

"Nightwing, your vital signs are--"

"What have we got?" he bellowed.

For a second it was silent on the other end, even Tim behind him. All he could hear was his own breathing, the muffled screams and hysteric laughter of the remaining population. Gotham was being decimated by explosions and gas alike.

"Bombs have detonated in every district. We have to concentrate on the evacuation. The GCPD is doing what they can. Batwoman is helping, Catwoman as well. Batgirl is back to stable. Red Hood went MIA with the explosion. I sent Huntress to his last known location. Black Bat is handling Harley Quinn."

"What about Batman and Robin?"

"Night-"

"Batman and Robin, _Oracle_."

"Robin arrived at the cave hurt a few minutes before the explosions started. The Batmobile was on autopilot. We are sending it back to B. He began engaging Enemy #1 half an hour ago."

Dick swallowed. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Half an hour was too long. Something had happened.

He turned to Tim. His cowl was ripped, blood smeared on the corner of his lips. His eyes were pleading. Something clenched in his chest at the sight. He was going to disappoint his little brother once again.

"I'm sending Red Robin back to the cave. Let Penny-One check him over and send him out again."

"Ni-"

" _Over_."

He kept his gaze on Tim, hoped his brother would understand, and then he turned.

One, two, three steps and he was flying, wind whipping against his face.

He ignored the pain rippling over his back; let his feet carry him from rooftop to rooftop, to the henchmen invested inner city.

A shot rang out beside him all too soon, and he dove, losing his footing and slipping on the tiles. His wounded back connected with the roof, forcing a gasp out between his lips and then, he was falling, arm uselessly stretched out as the pain made him freeze.

With a burst of energy born from impending death, Dick twisted midair like a cat and shot the grappling hook. It ripped through the rain gutter and stayed hooked. Dick caught the wall with his feet, pushed off and rolled with the motion. His arms instinctively rose to protect his chest. A kick was delivered to them, forcing him to fall back. One arm reaching out to protect his wounds, he left himself open and the next kick settled, making Dick lurch forward in shock.

“Tee-weet. Tee-weet. Tee-weet,” the goon said, “'o Nightwing goes.”

Dick ignored the knife slicing into his arm, barreled against the goon and used the motion to kick him off again. His Escrima was thrown precisely and shocked him out cold.

His gaze zeroed in on the shooter, and he jumped up the wall, locked his grappling gun anew and let himself be catapulted upwards. With a roundhouse kick it was done, and he pulled up, bile rising in his throat.

When his feet touched the ground again, the breath was kicked out of his lungs. His vision grew black. He stumbled. A hoarse scream pressed out between his lips. For a moment he remained cowed on the ground. His fingers searched for the instant painkillers, but his pockets were empty, the vial shots used or lost in the nightmarish hours since the Joker had started his siege.

Sometimes, Gotham surprised them, people emerging from the smog of the city to show; that crime and weakness did not reign over their home, this time too many had fallen for the Joker's wits and their own failings.

" _Happiness. All I wanted was happiness. Ha. Ha. A-hahahahaha_!"

Without regard to his well-being, he pushed up again, limping forward, one hand pressed to his bruised and broken ribs. Bruce had to be near. The beeping was growing louder in his ear, and he was eighty-five percent sure, that the beeping was not Barbara; trying to make him see reason.

A sea of dead bodies opened up to him when he shouldered into the warehouse, bullets blinking in their flesh. His damaged lenses crackled to life, unsure if night vision was needed in the dimly lit room.

The Joker was nowhere in sight.

He ignored the graveyard surrounding him, had to get to the man standing in the middle of the red-brown sea.

He stumbled over a twisted leg and could just so refrain from looking down. Bruce turned to him, hearing him advance and caught his gaze. Blood was streaming over the black Kevlar and Dick swallowed around a thick lump in his throat, knowing he did not look better. When he finally reached Bruce he curled one hand around his arm, tugging at the still figure.

“We have to go. There is nothing we can do anymore.”

For once in his life, Dick managed to hook their arms and force him to follow without arguing. At the same time it worried and scared him how compliant Bruce was, but he had no time to waste with questions the Bat would likely not answer. He could feel his knees growing weaker with every step. Soon he began to lean against Bruce. The pain was returning full force, everywhere. All his adrenaline had dissolved. His ribs stood on fire and the fabric of his suit was ripping at every bleeding wound. Even the Kevlar around his fingertips had been scorched into his skin at some point.

When they left the warehouse he let out a shuddering breath and then, inhaled as deeply as he could. Unfortunately, that was not deep at all. His ribs seemed to scratch against each other, making him break out into a cold sweat.

Finally, he had the courage to look down. His boots were engulfed by blood and left a trail on the pavement. Bruce' did too. He swallowed the bile down once more and was ever so careful when sliding into the seat of the Batmobile. A hiss escaped from his mouth the second he settled down. One of his ribs moved unnaturally in his chest, and he banged his head against the window to distract himself from the horrible pain.

He tried to control his breathing and hooked his arm around his chest to stabilize the broken bones. The burning pain stretched out from his sternum over his whole upper body. His hands began to shake. Batman stared at him as if frozen in time.

“Let me take a look,” the caped crusader mumbled, leaning closer. Dick swatted the offending hands away as best he could and ignored the growled: _“Nightwing”_

“In the cave, not here,” he pressed out between clenched teeth. It was so hard to breathe. “You are injured too.”

The hands in his vision balled up into fists, but Bruce settled back into his seat and Dick curled in on himself a bit more, squeezing his eyes shut. The throbbing pain only grew stronger. Maybe realizing in how much agony he really was, Bruce finally took control of the Batmobile. In the next second, Dick was pressed back into the seat by the acceleration.

He was growing cold, his body shaking, and he pressed his teeth together, refusing to let them clatter. There was no need to make his former mentor worry even more.

“Don’t sleep,” Bruce commanded, or rather snapped and Dick forced his eyes open again. His gaze shifted to the hunched form on the driver's seat, trying to assess the damage, but his eyes were unable to focus and his lips growing numb.

He was hovering on unconsciousness when they arrived at the cave. Blood was seeping on the seat. It was the only warmth he could feel. He had no idea where it was coming from. Had he been bleeding before?

Bruce was trying to lift him out of the car, but it was noticeably difficult and that spoke volumes about both of their injuries. Dick wanted to help but moving was impossible. Finally, Bruce managed to get him out of his seat and his eyelids closed, his body succumbing now that Bruce did not need his help anymore. His head fell back, lolling uselessly.

Bruce scrambled to steady his hold on him; instead, gentle hands framed his face. They were smaller, female, obviously Cassandra. He was glad that one of them was still standing. Bruce would not be able to do this alone. His lips formed a relieved smile and darkness swallowed him whole.


	2. The Thin Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I really didn’t expect two months to go by between first and second chapter but well… at least it’s accurate to how Dick is feeling?
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who bookmarked, commented and left kudos!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Dick breathed in.

Everything remained black.

Dick breathed out, panic creeping up his throat.

His heartbeat was too loud, too fast. He could imagine himself in the mirror with his pupils nothing but needles in a sea of blue.

Was he dead?

He tried to move his limbs.

His leg might have twitched on his command, but he remained caught - blind and bounded.

Was he dead?

No. _No._ He could think.

If he concentrated on anything but his own still body, then he could hear clicking and feel a warmth, maybe from the sun.

Comatose? Maybe. Maybe not? Just a new drug?

It had... they were?  _What?_

He had done... what?

Pain.  _Pain._  Bruce and Tim and Barbara and others. The family. Cassandra's slim calloused hands.

 _God._  He was so tired.

 

* * *

**"Hey, Dick... don't... uhm... _haveanyregrets_ , yeah?"**

* * *

 

 

Heat. He could feel the heat of the sun as if it were right beside him. Not blistering but still.

The smell of ozone lay in the air. He had woken to that smell so often in his life, to fiery hair and a blinding smile.

His chest hurt when his sight remained dark and his body eerily still.

"It's hard."

The voice floated from beside him and he tilted his head in its direction - only not really.

"We've had people die, Dick. You know that. I died."

A shaky breath and fingers touched his cheek, strong nails rasping against his skin. The smell of nail polish was faint but there. Donna.

"We can walk into hell, pull someone from the astral plane, but we can't get you back. Bruce does not want us to get the purple ray. I get it, but... I think it would help. We miss you."

 

* * *

**"We've had some things goin' on ya now... fuck... I don't...  ... get well soon."**

* * *

 

 

"Big bro, my ass. You should have stayed with Tim. Bruce doesn't deserve that we always jump into the line of fire for him."

 _That's not it, Jason,_  Dick wanted to say. But he could not move, could just imagine Jason hunched over him by the dip of the mattress.

"Don't know what's worse. Being dead and coming back or being caught between it?  _Urgh..._  I hope you didn't hear that. If you did, well... don't tell anyone I ever said that to you."

He could hear the flipping of pages.

"Figured, it'd be a bit boring. I don't really read the books you do and honestly I really just want to offend you so much that you wake up on your own."

More page flips, quiet waits, and Dick smiled in his mind. Jason was so predictable. So broken. He wished he could hug his brother, but even if he could, Jason would just give him a right hook into his face for his effort.

"It's Merry Shelly; pretty sure you can guess the book, Dicky."

Frankenstein. _Of course._

There was another wait, but without the turning of pages.

“Here goes nothing,” Jason whispered and only when he began to speak the first words, did Dick realize, that his brother had craved for an answer, a gesture, a sign.

_“I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance."_

It was hard listening to those old words, but Jason was eloquent, his voice carrying the depth of them as if he had read the passage countless times.

_"It is so long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed forever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard."_

I'm not dead, he wanted to say (or was he?). I'm here, even if you can't hear me, I can hear you.

_" These are the reflections of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has not that rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel?"_

I'm not dead.

 _"The time at length arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile,"_  Jason halted, a hitch in his breath that had not been there before,  _"the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished."_

 

* * *

**"The meeting was exhausting, Lucius... ...  ... please... I beg... …to me..."**

* * *

 

 

France was a nice place. He was glad his parents had decided to go there after... _?_  After. They were living in the quiet countryside, far away from the streets of Paris, that his mother had grown up on.

He liked the tranquil place. Every time Gotham got too hectic he could return and just _be_.

"Are you going to tell us what Bruce did this time, my little Robin?" his mother asked with a smile in her voice and amusement glittering in her bright blue eyes.

"I-It's not about Bruce!"

His father chuckled, ruffling his hair.

"Nobody but that man can make you look as if you want to burn down the world."

" _Dad!_ "

"Hey, hey, hey, chum. I don't like it either, but it is how it is."

 

* * *

**"No matter how much you imbecile fools want it... dead...  … _I won't apologize for saying the truth!_ "**

* * *

 

 

Air brushed against his skin, he could hear the fast clicking of a keyboard and breathed in greedily. It had to be a chilling night.

"We have a thief on the loose, Robin…  Yeah, exactly…  The corner where Meyer Street meets the Wayne Plaza."

A laugh echoed through the room, ringing in his ears.

"I know you've got it."

It turned quiet again and Dick strained to hear the clicking of the keyboard. Had Barbara left? Had he not heard her go?

He wanted to tell her not to leave him alone. He did not want to go back into the darkness.

_Please. Please. Please._

"See," Barbara responded calmly, "They are doing just fine, you don't have to worry. They are big boys and even bigger girls."

 

* * *

**"Nightwing was... ... person... more... a myth. A god...  ... alright, Dick. You have to be."**

* * *

 

He knew he was awake in a sense he had not been for... a long time, but somehow his mind was still evading the touch with reality. Everything was muted, except, except _of course_... Bruce.

His senses zeroed in on him as if they were polar opposites. The blue eyes were heavy with a whirlwind of emotion Dick did not understand, gaze sweeping over his body and then stopping, snapping up. Unrelenting was the first word entering his mind, rage, the second.

Dick felt like sinking further into the cushions. Had they lost someone again? He begged his lips to move, his tongue to curl, his vocal cords to vibrate. Bruce would not talk if he did not first. Dick begged his body not to fail him, he needed to shake him, scream at him because he had seen Bruce like this before, right after Jason.

As he predicted Bruce remained silent, like a dark omen of pain.

He felt strange, knew his body would shut down again. Any other time, he would have given in to the desire, but this was Bruce and for Bruce, he fought tooth and nail.

His eyes were half closed by the time he managed to straighten his fingers and he hoped for the brooding man to notice, to understand his offer. After what felt like an eternity Bruce stood up, his back tense and then he reached out. The stare was going right through him and for a second it seemed to be the looming figure of Batman instead of Bruce, who slowly ran his fingers through the long strands of his black hair.

Bruce was with him physically, but his mind was working on a completely different plane. The cold anger filling the darker blue froze his heart more and more the longer Bruce watched him. He tried to be comforting, closed his eyes, tilted into the touch as well as he could.

_I'm here, look at me. Look at me. Look at me._

The soft kiss to his forehead took him by surprise, made him feel boneless and caught in a flood of emotion. The simple gesture was conveying all the love and relief, that Dick had not seen in Bruce' eyes only moments prior.

He craved to open his eyes again, but the darkness was unrelenting.

The strong fingers stayed entangled in his hair, the feeling like an anchor to the world he wanted to return to. It never left him, still present when he blinked his eyes open again to be greeted by warm afternoon light.

He turned his head to the side, expecting Bruce.

Someone else greeted him.

Barbara had cried, her eyes red-rimmed and teary. She smiled, tried to hide the obvious tear stains as if she could get any stronger in his mind. He weakly formed his lips into a mirroring smile and raised his hand towards her so she could clutch it in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun with those bold sentences and I hope you have fun figuring out who said what and what might have been said between those blank spaces and dots! :D
> 
> Sadly I’m not sure when the next chapter will be finished but as I have fewer things to do during the winter break, I’ll probably update at the beginning of January.


	3. A New Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is already transforming quite a bit from its original concept, just a warning that Character Tags and Additional Tags will change.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks the story has already gathered.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Alfred fluffed the pillows, smoothed over the fabric of the worn couch and picked up the last little crumb of chips that had been hiding between the cushions. As much as he was in favor of Jason's insistence to stay at the manor until Richard recovered, he wished the boy would use his room. Him bolting behind the grandfather clock the second Bruce was in sight or hearing distance did not help to mend their relationship at all.

With a sigh, he stepped out into the entrance hall to pull his white gloves back on and to pick up his hat. After a moment’s hesitation, a tailored jacket followed. Finally, he made his way outside to drive up the limousine.

Colored leafs speckled the ground of the driveway, flooding the garden. He would have to employ a gardener soon or, maybe, he could convince Jason to help him. The boy still refused any money from Bruce, but surely he would take whatever Alfred gave him as payment.

He flicked his wrist when he stepped back out of the car, a frown settling on his face, it was past Bruce’ and his meeting time already.

As he had gotten accustomed to in the last months, his old eyes searched out the windows of the second floor, to try and catch a glimpse of a passing figure. It was a good indicator to decide wherever Bruce had at least left Richard's room.

He clasped his hands behind his back when he caught no motion, a dull pain caused by too many scars flaring in his chest. With a sigh leaving his lips, he straightened once more, ready to stride into the manor. Even under the given circumstances, they could not be more than ten minutes late.

Before he could even take a step, both doors parted, Bruce stepping out with cutting eyes and a set jaw. If possible Alfred felt his stance turn even straighter, skin growing tight with worry. For a moment the wing doors stayed in a white-knuckled grip, then Bruce let go of the poor wood, doors falling shut behind him.

"He woke up, Alfred."

Bruce' gaze was burning into him, a turmoil of anger and regret in his eyes that was not yet broken by the happiness Alfred so dearly wished to see.

"For a short while at least," the whisper of his voice was reverend, mouth twisting around the words in a battle of up and down.

Alfred sucked in a breath, fighting over his neutrality with tooth and nail.

"Would you like me to reschedule your meeting to a more appropriate time?"

Alfred would in a heartbeat, hoped his charge would take the chance. Some of the tension disappeared from Bruce but the cold detached look creeping into his eyes - that had forced Alfred to miss more sleep in the last months than he had in the last decade - was not the reaction he had hoped for.

"No, this meeting is important," for the future of Gotham, was left unsaid. "We will proceed."

"Very well, Master Bruce," he complied, opening the door with a heavy heart before he returned to the driver's seat, adjusting the rear view mirror to keep an eye on the man he had raised.

As he started the car, he prayed Richard would wake a second time and remain with them until he grew old. He did not dare fathom what it would do to Bruce if he came back from his meeting with their new investors to find Richard had slipped under once again.

Alfred still woke from the blood-curdling scream and the mantra of no's ripping out of Batman's throat when Nightwing had grown still in his arms. The black-gauntleted grasp had been slippery with blood but strong with desperation while Cassandra pleaded to give Nightwing into their care.

Leslie and he had barely been able to keep him alive until the League had gotten involved, Clark whisking him away and Bruce not complaining because he was still sitting in a puddle of Richard's blood. By then Cassandra had given up on trying to drag him away, hugging him instead and whispering reassurances.

How familiar the sight was for anyone who had seen young Bruce kneeling between the still bodies of his parents.

By now, it was tradition for the three of them to meet in the kitchen at ungodly hours of the night to drink comfort tea and eat sweet biscuits.

"Showing weakness will do you no harm, Sir," Alfred finally caved, not able to stand the silence and the loathing in Bruce's eyes any longer.

Tension filled the car but then the stoic expression shifted and his charge looked up.

"I was starting to lose hope," was the quiet reply, all that loathing directing inwards.

They all had. When pieces of a broken sternum had nearly ripped Richard's heart apart, the first leaves had started to unfold, preparing to explode into a lush green. And while the devastated city was slowly being rebuilt, the devastation looked all the more somber under the murky clouds of fall.

"He opened his eyes, Alfred. I forgot, how beautiful they are," Bruce whispered, hand curling to a fist.

Alfred barely kept his foot from touching the brakes. Stoic as always, Bruce would deny it vehemently, but he needed a hug. He needed a hug from his first partner, a hug from the boy who had been the light to Bruce's darkness long before anyone else.

When he returned to the manor, he was both relieved and worried to find the wing cycle still in their garage. Jason had taken it into his possession after haughtily declaring, that no one else knew how to drive a motorbike anyway. Either the second oldest was not yet back to hear about his brother's new state of recovery or Richard had not woken up again.

He steeled himself for his biggest task of the day by knocking on Damian's door. Apart from Barbara, he was the only one currently at the manor - or at least he was supposed to be, considering Bruce had grounded him for a lethal attack against Scarecrow.

"Master Damian?" he asked after the third knock, trying to push the door open only to find it locked. Alfred sighed. "Master Damian, I would only like to inform you that your brother has awoken."

No reaction, which meant, Damian had sneaked out again. There was no one in this family that would not stop everything they were doing for those magic words.

Bruce would have called him too optimistic when he opened the door to Richard's bedroom with a tray in hand and steaming soup placed on top. He would agree with a smile, not revealing how much comfort he would take in the familiar smell of the old English recipe, should he find Richard incapable of eating it himself.

The better it felt, when the tray nearly dropped out of his hands in relief.

Barbara was in Richard's arms, her wheelchair forgotten behind her. Richard was muttering into her hair, as he lay splayed out on the pulled-up bed. Receptive as always, Richard raised his gaze the second Barbara turned. Alfred peered into his eyes, something blooming in his chest and nearly shattering him with its power when a smile curled over lips that had been frozen for too long.

"Hey, Alfie," his voice was teasing if rough with disuse and Barbara shifted against him, head falling to his chest.

 _He's back_ , she mouthed, her eyes puffy. _He really is back_.

"Good afternoon, Master Richard," he returned the greeting, pushing the wheelchair closer so Barbara could comfortably pull back into it. He settled the tray down on Richard's lap.

"My favorite," Richard chuckled, "Thank you."

While the boy slurped his soup, Alfred inquired how long he had been awake, critically eyeing the tremor to every small motion the weak body was subjected to.

"A questionnaire it is," Alfred said as he took the tray away, Richard complaining under his breath with a pout.

He had missed the antics, had missed someone being happy and childish in this household.

* * *

 

**"You should not be here, Damian."**

 

* * *

"What year is it, Master Richard?"

Dick sighed, wondering if the questions were necessary, but he answered when the two hands clasping his squeezed together tightly.

"2018," he replied, scrunching up his nose as he tried to get any sense of time, "maybe 19?"

"Close enough," Alfred acknowledged, "It is in fact still 2018. The 15th of October, actually."

Dick bit his lip, thumb brushing over the back of Barbara's hand. He could remember strolling through the park with Damian and Titus. The temperature had barely been over the freezing point. How many months? Nearly a year?

"And who is Superman?" Alfred ripped him out of his musings.

Dick snorted. "Clark Kent."

"And where are we?"

"Paris."

Alfred stared at him, Dick blinked back, and then he back paddled.

"I'm mean Gotham. We are in Gotham," Dick frowned, "right?"

Alfred's jaw tensed for a moment, but then he nodded.

"You do not believe so?"

Dick breathed in, smoothed the blanket he had been twisting and glanced at Barbara's face out of the corner of his eye. Her strong grip on his hand eased once again but the worry stayed edged into her face.

"I," Dick frowned, squeezing his eyes shut.

A sea breeze over his skin, a ruffle of his father's big hand.

"I know this is my room in the manor but I..."

The smile of his mother, the smell of crêpe in the air.

He rubbed his forehead.

The rush of descending from the Eiffel Tower.

"You feel a certain disconnect?"

Camera flashes and Bruce in the crowd.

Dick nodded, gaze flittering over the man who might as well be his grandfather.

"That should settle with time," Alfred mused, "Please tell me if the feeling stays."

Dick nodded again, shoulders pulled down. There was an apology on the tip of his tongue.

“Master Bruce regrets his absence. He was called away to attend a meeting shortly before you woke.”

"Time never stops for him," Dick replied even though the need to see him was strong. The shiver of fear striking down his back had settled in his spine, rattling him even now as he remembered the pure undiluted rage in Bruce' eyes. Paired with the image of Batman standing in a ring of blood, surrounded by men and women with bullets in their heads, he knew Bruce had left a part of himself in that warehouse.

“I will prepare further light meals over the day. I am sure you will appreciate them,” Alfred informed him, hesitating before settling a warm hand on his shoulder, “It is good to have you back.”

Dick smiled, squeezing the hand with his free one, but it felt frozen on his face. There was no doubt that the second he had succumbed to his injuries, he had caused Bruce even more pain.

"Dick," Barbara whispered. He raised his head to gaze into her breathtaking green eyes, gaze falling to the freckles all over her face. He had mapped them with his fingers and mouth so often he had lost count.

"I just noticed," he said, blinking the distance away and conjuring a grin on his face, "I never told you about Apollo on your left cheek."

The worried expression morphed into exasperation even if Barbara was not fully convinced.

"I am sure you are tired," she noted despite her reluctance to leave.

Dick pouted. "I have questions."

"I am sure you do," she replied, her smile growing thinner, "And I'll be sure to give you a recap. Later."

He knew it would be futile to argue with her. With an exaggerated sigh, he bounced his head against the soft cushions, arms crossed over his chest. A strand of long black hair was elevated into the air by a mighty huff.

"How manly of you."

Dick turned his head and fluttered his eyelashes, twisting his body.

"You like me all manly and tough, don't deny it, Barbara Gordon."

A snort escaped her.

"Hold your horses, lover boy."

* * *

 

**"How many until he is satisfied?"**

 

* * *

 

Dick stared up at the ceiling, the shadows growing longer the more daylight dimmed.

He was bored.

And never one to lie down even if his injuries warranted it, Dick carefully rose into a sitting position. The worry-wards should have known better than to leave him alone.

His toes curled on the cold wooden ground, the touch new and old at the same time in a strange way. When he stood up the height made his head spine but after a moment reality clicked back into place just to twist on its hinges once more the second he took a step. Dick reached out for the armchair in the middle of the room, nausea catching up on him and twisting his sight all the more. A deep breath later he was walking again.

Outside, a mild storm was raging, thin strips of rain splattering against the glass. He opened the balcony door, a shudder running through him when the cold wind whipped at him as if it wanted to coax him nearer. With his hands on the railing, he breathed through, reveling in the feeling of wind ruffling his hair and rain wetting his skin. His body felt weak in a way it had never before.

“I’m sure they told you to stay in bed.”

Dick grimaced when he heard the steely voice and turned back to Bruce, his mentor standing behind him with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed. Great, five hours back in the land of the living and he was in for a scolding.

“Close the door,” Bruce prompted when he hesitated to move, "before you get hypothermia."

Dick pulled it closed with a frown, clutching the knob harder. If Bruce saw how weak he was, Dick would not get out of this room in the next days at all.

"I'm not going to lie down again."

" _Dick._ "

"I said no, Bruce."

"And I wasn't asking."

Dick grit his teeth, made a quick step towards the stubborn man - his anger getting the best of him - and instantly regretted the swift movement when his vision turned black.

Hands gripped his forearms, keeping him steady before he could sink to the ground in a puddle of goo. Instead of shoving a finger into Bruce' chest he was left clutching the expensive shirt with a groan.

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

Dick yelped, when his feet left the ground, Bruce holding him bridal style and daring him to complain. His mouth remained shut; complaints would only turn into another fight because Clark was allowed to carry him like that while Bruce wasn't and yadda yadda _yadda_.

Down on the soft cushions once again, he tugged his legs nearer and took a deep breath. Bruce remained standing, still defensive.

“I just had to move again”, Dick defended lamely and Bruce sighed, crouching down. Somehow their whole interaction felt like a weird dream. Suddenly, he was back in his childhood instead of a grown man waking from heavy injuries.

“I know, but you just woke up”, Bruce said, carefully squeezing his knee, the touch warm and like a distant memory from a lifetime ago. “You have to take it slow.”

Dick frowned at the vulnerability in his voice but nodded. After everything, he could at least listen to his pleas.

“Slow isn't my middle name but I won’t make you worry too much, B,” he teased.

Bruce’ gaze flickered over his face and he opened his mouth, hand rising to settle on his thigh but then he stopped mid-motion, sighing again and closing his eyes. The words sticking in Dick’s throat and curling his tongue were lost when Bruce drew away.

“I will be on patrol earlier today but I’ll come by later again. Don’t give Alfred a headache.”

Dick watched him go in uneasy confusion.

Not long after Alfred returned with a bowl of selected fruits, Tim in tow. His little brother was staring at him wide-eyed as if he was seeing a ghost. Dick shifted under the stare, trying and failing to find words just for Tim fling himself at him the same way Barbara had. Dick hugged back as tightly as he could and was left wondering if this would turn into the standard greeting even for the likes of Jason.

"I missed you too, little brother," he whispered, "And I'm glad you went back to the cave when I told you."

"And I think you're an idiot for going after B with the injuries you had!" Tim bellowed against his chest. His insistence to keep his face pressed to his chest making it much harder to hear the anger in them.

"You knew how much of an idiot I am before that."

Tim pulled back, a crooked smile on his lips.

"Yeah, probably. Sometimes you don't seem to be that bright."

"Hey!" Dick complained, tugging on Tim's nose and getting an indignant squawk in return. He grinned at the glowering teen.

Leaning back, he asked: "What are the Titans up to these days?"

Tim smoothed down his now red nose. Maybe he could convince him to play Rudolf for Cassandra this Christmas.

"The same old. Roy is getting a handle on them again."

Tim scratched his neck with a hesitant smile.

"They were all here, you know. Every single last one," Tim chuckled, „Bruce nearly got an aneurysm."

"Oh? Tell me more about that," he demanded, a wicked smile curling his lips. Never one to disappoint Tim animatedly described how exactly Bruce had fought against letting anyone near him, that did not already know about his secret identity.

Dick only noticed said caped crusader lurking in the doorway, when the looming shadow disappeared out of view.

* * *

 

**"He will never be satisfied."**

 

* * *

 

“I can walk just fine!”

Alfred had none of it and he was left seething, sitting on his bed for the second day in a row to remain caught in his little prison just as he had predicted. He glowered at Bruce when his former mentor stepped towards him but there was no pity to be found.

“You know he is right.”

Dick's tongue curled in his mouth, prepared to give a verbal lashing about all the times Bruce had not listened to the poor man and then deciding against it. Grumbling, he rolled to his side. It was silent for a while until Dick let out a sigh full of suffering and rolled back around, watching Bruce watch him.

“What is it?” Dick asked, pulling up into a sitting position once again.

“I’m thinking,” Bruce stated as if that were the information he had wanted.

“About what?” he asked, scooting out of the bed to stand in front of the stoic man, “Any problems?”

Nobody was telling him the specifics of Gotham's demise. He knew it was bad but his memory had told him that long before Barbara did.

“No.”

“Tell me,” he encouraged, settling a hand on Bruce' shoulder before the man could step back. His jaw tensed like it tended to do but then his shoulders lowered, eyes falling closed as he took a breath.

"There is just a lot going on at the moment, Dick."

"Did I wake at a bad time?"

" _Dick._ "

He grinned, showing too many teeth. "Sorry."

"You're going to be just like Jason, won't you? The same horrible jokes."

Bruce' mouth twisted, eyes pained and Dick flinched, nearly took a step back.

"I did not mean to," he begun and trailed off. How long had it been since he had misjudged any interaction with Bruce?

After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped nearer, embracing Bruce for all it was worth and eyes squeezing shut when Bruce hugged him back.

"I don't blame you. It was my decision to go after you," he whispered.

A huff against his neck. "I'm glad you did, just as much as I wish you didn't."

"I don't quite remember but," Dick bit his lip, stared at the water droplets splashing against the windows, "he set those people up like... them, right?"

"A hundred couples stripped off their lives just like my parents."

Dick could feel his pain, even if his voice was purposely flat, maybe because of it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"And then you nearly died beside me."

His fingers clawed into the strong back.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"You lost so much blood."

"I'm sorry."

"I burnt the cape, Dick."

The first sob escaped him, muffled against Bruce's shoulder.

"I burnt it all."

A hand settled atop his head. His tears slipped free, his breath hitched as the words that had been spooking around his head ever since waking up tumbled out between his lips once more.

"I'm sorry."

Bruce' grip grew tighter.

"Me too."

Clinging to each other in the middle of his room was how Damian found them, Titus by his side.

Dick blinked the tears away to look at his little brother, letting go of Bruce and not a second too late because Damian barreled into him the instant the field was clear. The only reason he was still standing by the end of it, was the strong hand against his shoulder.

"If you would leave us now, father," came the muffled command and Dick looked up, reassuringly. A moment’s hesitation and then a nod before they were left alone. Titus brushed his head against his hand until Dick raised it to pet him.

"Dami."

The child... teen, did not react, short but strong arms only growing tightening their grip. Dick carefully lowered both of them to the ground and leaned back against his bed frame. Brushing through the locks of black hair, he gave him time.

"You know," he started with a smile pulling on his lips, when he felt Damian relax a bit, "I remember hearing some conversations."

Damian flinched, suddenly letting go as if burned and pulled fully back with his eyes on the ground. Dick stared, not daring to reach out but deciding to speak on.

"I was about to ask if you ever caught that robber but... Damian, what's wrong?"

His brother shifted and then he looked up, his lip wobbling and eyes teary.

"I gave up on you, Grayson," Damian coughed out as if the words were spikes working their way up his throat, "I gave up on _you_."

Dick opened his mouth, closed it again.

"They kept saying you would come back and you didn't get better! And I told them to stop dreaming, that you were already dead."

Dick swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

" _Oh._ "

Damian kept his head down, hair shadowing his eyes but snot and tears dripping to the floor while his hands were two trembling fists on his knees.

"Do you hate me now?"

Dick blinked, a smile blooming on his lips as reality wobbled around him.

"Of course not."

Of course not.

Of course…not.

People had declared him dead while he had kept fighting so often in his life; it was useless to get hung up on it now.

"Grayson?"

And still, the darkness crept back around him, a living breathing thing trying to swallow him up again, maybe for good this time. Binding him to a bed or heaven or hell and forcing him to witness instead of act.

Maybe he was still dreaming. Maybe he was dead.

"Grayson!"

Sternum shattered under his skin.

"Damian, get out!"

His breathing coming in wheezing sounds.

"But, father!"

Gasps straining his lungs and throat.

" _Now!_ "

Hands framed his face, blue eyes appearing in his vision.

"Bruce," he gasped, the name punched out of his throat in protest, "I can't--"

"I know. Just breath with me," was the clear response, "In… and out."

Dick dragged air into his lungs, pushed it out against the greedy squeeze.

"Exactly," Bruce encouraged him, "In… and out."

Dick closed his eyes.

"In," Bruce repeated, "and out."

His head fell against the strong man's chest, fingertips pressing into the broad shoulders.

"I'm alive, Bruce," he mumbled, "I'm alive, am I not?"

"Of course you are," Bruce responded as if he as well would fall apart if Dick were dead, "Just look at your hands and count to five."

Dick clawed into Bruce' shirt, face still pressed against the calmly rising and falling chest. A hand interlaced with his, pulling it up. He shook his head.

"It's alright, Dick. Just take a look. You are fine. This isn't a dream. You are here with me."

At the desperation in Bruce’ voice, Dick moved his head ever so slowly, fearful to plummet into the darkness once more only to grow boneless against Bruce when he counted to five.

Then he pulled back with sudden force, looking around with wide eyes, his fingers jittery.

"Damian, he--"

"In his room," Dick stood before Bruce had even finished but he was pulled back down again just as fast. " _You_ are staying _here_."

"Bruce."

"No. You just had a panic attack." The commanding voice was nearly as thunderous as the stormy blue eyes.

Dick's lips parted and then he looked away.

"Just," Dick swallowed, "he needs to know that I'm not angry."

Bruce squeezed his hand, to reassure him or because he did not want to let him go, Dick did not know.

“Okay," Bruce agreed, " _Okay._ "

* * *

 

**"He's awake. We both know that changes things."**

 

* * *

Damian opened his door no further than an inch, looking at the floor rather than at him and only stealing a glance at his father.

"Can I come in?" he asked. His brother looked so young, younger than he had every right to look. Damian Al Ghul did not bow his head to anyone.

"Of course."

"Thank you, little D."

Damian's gaze stayed locked on the floor while held the door open and Dick stopped inside the entrance, attention shifting to his protective shadow.

"I'm fine, B."

"Should I call for Alfred and tell him that you stole yourself out of your room?"

"Blackmail," he replied flatly, "So soon? Really?"

"Your choice."

Dick rolled his eyes and stepped inside to settle on the foot of Damian's bed.

"I'm not angry. I'm not even disappointed," Dick spoke, watching Damian shuffle in front of him and ignoring Bruce as the man walked to the window front behind him. "I'm just glad to be back. You caught me on the wrong foot. Forgive and forget, alright?"

Damian grit his teeth, looking up.

"How can you say that? I declared you dead and then I...," the green eyes glanced at Bruce, Damian's back growing rigid and then he looked back at him with his mouth tightly shut.

Dick stared, then he turned. For a moment he remembered how it had felt to wake for the first time. The fear in his heart, the anger in Bruce' face.

He blinked. Bruce watched him with his brow furrowed, stoic but worried all the same.

"You said that yes, but you also barreled into my room crying and hugging me to," Dick chuckled, "death. Don't you think that counts more?"

Damian looked back at his feet like a scolded soldier. What was this? What was going on?

"Because I do. Your actions speak louder than your words."

Damian remained silent for another few seconds before he raised his gaze again.

"I suppose they do."

He still looked like a little soldier, having to believe what his superior told him but not really doing so. Dick had no idea what else to tell him.

"How about we go for a walk with Titus the second I am allowed to?" he asked, not missing the glance Damian gave his father and he added, "Just you and me."

He would deal with Bruce.

"I'd like that."

There was hope shining in his eyes and Dick smiled, standing up and ruffling his hair until he heard a familiar indignant squawk. Dick chuckled and held the door open for Bruce, who followed with a short glance at Damian.

"What's going on?" he asked, the second the door fell closed behind the man and Bruce turned.

"Nothing," he replied, Dick hurried to follow. Not able to bring any words over his lips when Bruce picked up speed. Clutching onto the wall he stopped.

"Bruce," he hissed, swallowing the spit forming in his mouth. Bruce did, shoulders tense. "What is going on?"

"I didn't take his words very well the first time he said them."

Dick believed that but...

"There is more. Don't lie to me."

Bruce looked to the side, gaze catching on a picture of his father.

"We should sit down for that conversation."

Easy to say for a man, who was unable to face him.

"No thanks, I'm good where I am."

Bruce remained silent but finally, he turned, his gaze going through him but Dick did not move. The strong jaw tensed in that all familiar clench Jason and Alfred and Damian were so prone to as well.

"I'm sure the others have mentioned Gotham's destruction. Both the government and the citizens are still trying to identify any and all corpses that remain John and Jane Does. Some of our enemies have lost their lives and that has created an unfortunate power vacuum. A new villain has used the last months to climb up the ranks at an impressive speed, garnering names that have not yet settled. Enabler. The Anti-Hero," Bruce paused, "He went after the Joker. And he survived. We haven't seen the Joker since."

Dick's Adam's apple popped in his throat, suddenly feeling like the size of a golf ball. The Joker had been part of their lives for so long, that the clown’s demise was unthinkable.

"Soon after the Enabler contacted Helena and Jason, to implant into caught villains what Barbara and I believe to be a kill switch. We don't know but we expect him to be in contact with Constantine and Vigilante as well."

Dick had not expected any of this.

"What does that have to do with Damian?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, urging him to think and Dick swallowed down the bitter taste in his mouth.

"Damian wouldn't."

"You were," Bruce began, old rage hidden in the tremor of his voice, and then he grit his teeth, looking away.

"You weren't there," Bruce settled on and the blue eyes, so unlike his own, regarded him darkly, "We talked after his outburst, fought, soon after he searched out Jason. Since then he's been under house arrest."

Dick sunk down the wall, legs too weak to carry him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Bruce murmured, shoulders falling out of their tense hold.

"That's why he feels so guilty?" Dick whispered, leaning his head against the wall.

"I imagine. He justified it because you were," Bruce trailed off, suddenly looking weak and exhausted.

"Dead," he breathed.

"Yes, and now you are alive."

Dick huffed, shook his head.

"He really thinks I wouldn't forgive him?"

Bruce regarded him.

"I'm sure he knows, the question is, will he forgive himself?"

"I do hope so," Dick smiled, "and I hope you can forgive him as well."

"I will," Bruce' gaze flittered away, "eventually."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4:  
> Things get stranger. Dick investigates.


	4. A Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What has happened so far:_   
>  After waking from his coma, Dick learns from Bruce that a new villain named the Enabler has made it his mission to control Gotham's criminals with a kill switch. While Jason's and Helena's involvement with the new villain does not come as a surprise, Damian's does and as if that would not be enough, the Joker has disappeared as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for the long wait. Live has been crazy for me in the last couple of months and I just could not get into the right mindset of writing nor find the time I needed. I hope I will be able to upload the next chapter sooner. 
> 
> It's nice to see that quite a few people are enjoying this story and are invested in the mystery. 
> 
> Hopefully, I can deliver enjoyment until the end. :)

"We'll stay on the manor grounds," Dick bargained with a sigh, staring as disapprovingly at Barbara and Alfred as they were at him. If not for Damian, who was holding his hand in a surprising show of affection, while shifting by his side with an answering glare on his face, he would have lost the staring contest against the two worrywarts.

"In addition, Grayson has a more than capable partner by his side."

Dick bit his lip to mute his chuckle; discouraging Damian now would not end well. The kid was already puffing out his chest, ready to posture like a smol fluffy baby bird. Barbara rolled her eyes but underneath her annoyance lay an undeniable fondness, and after short contemplation, Alfred nodded.

"Fresh air should do you good, Master Richard."

Dick preened, electing a groan of annoyance from Barbara. He stuck his tongue out in retaliation.

"Real mature, Grayson," she hollered after him and his laugh echoed through the entrance hall while Damian barked at him to hurry up, Titus already scurrying towards the door.

Since his rise-from-the-not-dead a few days ago, the rain had let up more and more but the wind was still going strong, ripping at their clothes. Long strands of black hair whipped into his face, feeling unfamiliar against his skin. He should have taken one of Barbara's scrunchies to tie it up. Why hadn't she warned him about the wind? _Urgh!_ He should have cut it back the second he had woken up.

Ignoring the safety hazard is own hair created, he watched Damian throw the ball far out into the swaying grass. Titus sometimes caught the squishy toy midair, seeming majestic right before he plummeted back to the ground. With a sigh, Dick realized that - as always - speaking would fall to him.

"Bruce and I talked," Dick begun, hoping to get a reaction out of his little brother. Expressive brows pulled down in reply and paired with the straight mouth, the expression made Damian look far older than he was.

"He," Dick licked his lips, "He told me everything, Dami."

"He did?" Damian asked; voice a quiet whisper as his eyes went impossibly wide, hands balling to fists beside him as he came to a sudden stop. Dick winced.

"Yes," he replied, crouching down and realizing promptly that Damian had hit one of his many growth spurts while he had held his beauty sleep. A few more years and Damian would tower at his father's height.

"I--I didn't think he would," Damian admitted, gaze drifting down to the grass between them. Dick's hands twitched but he knew better than to reach out.

"I'm not mad at you. Disappointed maybe, but only the slightest bit," Dick hurried to say and a smile settled on his lips, a little too gnarled but still understanding, "I get it, I get why you would listen to the... the Enabler. You have always been in favor of revenge and, well. I tried to kill the Joker once, hit an injured man in his own hospital bed--"

"Deathstroke deserved that."

Dick chuckled, pushing a long strand out of his face and behind his ear. "Yeah. Yeah, he did, for what he did to you."

Damian looked at him, hope shining in his eyes and Dick... Dick had nothing else to give him.

"What about father?" Damian finally asked, shifting under his gaze.

Dick blinked, opened his mouth and then closed it again. A groan was building behind his teeth but he kept it at bay. Of course, they had not talked. No one had time for Bruce to get his shit together.

"You know Bruce, he'll get over it."

Damian stilled, the lively shimmer of eagerness in his eyes vanished with a start, the blue gaze suddenly going right through him. Then, his little brother looked away entirely, fists shaking at his sides.

"Right," Damian spat bitterly and for a moment Dick could only stare, invisible hands squeezing his heart and a sudden distance between them, that Dick had trouble comprehending.

"Dami?"

Damian looked up at him, jaw tense and eyes dark.

"As you said, he'll get over it," his brother turned, "If you would excuse me now, Grayson, I need to do my homework."

"Damian?" he could not help but reach out but Damian evaded his touch with a step to the side, "Damian!"

In a swift motion, he stood, nausea catching up to him in a rush he ignored as he hurried through the cornfield after his brother. After just a few meters he had to stop. Chest heaving, Dick lowered his head, hands grasping his knees while he tried to get his breathing under control. When he felt less like throwing up, he raised his head again but Damian had already disappeared inside.

"Shit!" Dick hissed, kneeling down and letting his throbbing head hang for a moment longer before he stood up once again. Maybe Damian would still tell him why he was so aggravated if he asked nicely enough.

Pushing the heavy doors open Dick made his way up the stairs, already feeling the strain in his legs from walking so much. He met Bruce' gaze once he was halfway up, subjected fully to the attention of dark blue eyes. Dick was not sure if Bruce had watched them from the balcony or if Damian had rushed past him in his disappointment.

A shiver traveled up his spine like claws brushing against his skin only to carve into his neck. _What were they doing?_ He wondered while that feeling shook him and screamed at him in a deafening voice of rushing blood.

* * *

 

**"Bruce told him everything."**

 

* * *

Dick stared at the grandfather clock, face reflected in the old glass and then finally, he pulled the trigger, hoping the familiar mechanism would soothe his nerves. It did not. The descending staircase was swallowed by ominous darkness, the cool air emerging from the tunnels making his hairs stand on edge.

Since waking up a feeling of wrongness kept buzzing beneath his skin. Speaking with Barbara had not made it better, tight-lipped as she was. And tight-lipped, they all were.

He had stormed out of this same cave at sixteen, ready to never look back, ready to never be told the truth. And yet, Bruce had told him a lot, a lot that made sense but the feeling stayed; the feeling that Damian was keeping something hidden from him as well. All those secrets were like a pressure on his airways, choking him during every conversation.

But it was not only the crawling secret Bruce and Damian kept from him, that turned him anxious; Barbara and Tim looked at him as if he would disappear the second they looked away. He felt like a stranger in his own home and sometimes he woke in the middle of the night scared to open his eyes in case everything had just been a dream.

He should have shown more compassion towards Jason when he had come back but now it was too late and maybe it had always been.

Dick stepped forward, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness as he descended and soon he was immersed in the blue light of the Bat-computer. His fingers drummed against his thighs and they did not stop even when he settled down into the large chair.

Finally, he typed out the name Bruce had given him, all the information they had on the Enabler appearing in front of him as he leaned back to get comfortable against the old familiar leather.

The reports they had gathered were from the police and their own encounters with the emerging villain but they had no visual recordings, only a composite sketch, most likely drawn by Damian.

If Dick did not know any better he would have called the villain Hush but he did and while the trench coat was similar, the bandages around his head as well, the muzzle was an addition Dick knew Hush would never make.

Dick opened the statistics. The suddenness of criminals disappearing but also the erratic behavior behind the crimes shocked him despite the information Bruce had shared with him. While the suddenness and perfect execution spoke of year-long planning, the impulsive timeframes spoke of pure emotions.

Not all criminals seemed to reappear again and very few were gone for the same amount of time. Was the Enabler disposing them or giving them to Anti-Heroes like Jason or Helena?

Dick shook his head, trying to physically dispose of the thought. The alliances with Jason and Helena might have been shaky even in the best days but using human lives as payment was neither Jason's nor Helena's thing. They despised the behavior, had killed women and men for less.

A sigh left him, fingers digging into his temples to ease the pressure. Someone like the Enabler could not suddenly rise from the ashes, going unnoticed by them for so long. The Gotham Gazette had first articles of the Enabler dating as far back as to a month after the Joker's Last Stand - as media had titled the Clown's Attack - but the Joker had disappeared far sooner, even though no one was aware of the exact time.

The Enabler's first known victim had been Harley Quinn. Ivy had found her with the killing chip already in her head, only realizing so because the woman's genetic makeup had read differently to Ivy.

It reeked of a set-up. The Enabler had wanted people to know. And despite that, no one had found a safe way to extract the chips... or nobody wanted to.

Human rights activists had tried to research the chips properly, Wayne Enterprise being part of funding and experimenting while Lex Luthor had started a discussion about the topic in general. Knowing who Luthor really was; Dick was sure the man wanted to use the chips as a way to control even more people than he already did.

Had the villain thought of the social impact? Had that been his plan? What had made him snap anyway? Destruction was nothing new to Gotham and it was not the first time the Joker had decimated so many people. Then again, as far as he had been told - not seen, not yet - Gotham was largely gone, which made no sense to him. Why had the Joker been so adamant now? What had changed to forgo the cat and mouse play between Clown and Bat?

"You've been here for hours. You should rest," Bruce' voice echoed through the cave, footsteps clicking hard against the stone floor. Dick looked up with a frown, ready to defend himself against the judgment when he recognized the silent figure behind Bruce.

"Cass!"

Cass grinned, bounding over to him, cape swinging wildly behind her in her haste and her arms encircled his shoulders warmly. Her hug was more tentative compared to the other greetings he had received in the last week but just as heartfelt.

"Long time no see, sis," he greeted her, grin on his lips.

“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again,” her light voice sounded a bit thinner than usual and Dick remembered her presence that night, her gentle hands against his skin as he had bled and their wry parting words when Oracle had sent them into different districts.

"Gotham is getting crowded," she told him, lingering hands falling from his shoulders as she pulled back again, "Steph and I joined the Birds of Prey properly and are taking on some specific jobs. We've been to Italy."

Dick nodded, not asking about Italy in front of Bruce. Even if Stephanie was not here, the mention of Italy often enough involved _pregnancy, declared dead_ and _fuck off, Bruce_.

"Nice. Steph and you should come by some time, I'm sure B will lock me in my room again now that I have dared to venture outside," Dick grinned.

"Ice cream and chick flicks?" Cass guessed and Dick held his hand up for a high-five, watching her shuffle into the showers with a short glance back at him before it stayed a little longer on Bruce.

"You want to investigate him?" Bruce asked the second Cass was out of sight, hard disapproving tone setting Dick on edge once more.

"I thought you would be happier."

Bruce frowned. "You are still recovering."

"He hasn't gone against any heroes so far. And by the profile you created, he won't."

"Then you did not read it properly," Bruce said at once, eyes narrowed, "He might if we come too close. And you always come too close to villains." 'Your own and mine' was left unsaid. Dick couldn't believe his audacity.

"You said the same about Clark and he turned out just fine," Dick snapped, cringing right after, when Bruce grew rigid, never one to take being reminded of his own failures too kindly.

"Clark never did this. Clark never became a villain in the first place."

"Sure didn't sound like that at the time," Dick challenged, knew how to push his buttons with words that went a little too far, were just this side of too sharp.

Bruce regarded him, hands fists at his side.

"Go to your room."

Dick breathed out of his nose, lips twitching.

"I'm not a child, Bruce."

"You're still in recovery," Bruce repeated, gaze suddenly looking through him, fists smoothing out, "Go up with Cassandra."

Dick frowned at the sudden shift, invisible force squeezing his heart. His fingers twitched at his side and he took a tiny step forward. The cape clapped like thunder when Bruce turned. Dick stood stock still as Bruce made his way to the still heated Batmobile without another word.

A hand slipped into his, Cassandra watching the Batmobile tear out into the night.

* * *

 

**"I made my choice. Nightwing is none of your concern."**

 

* * *

He caught the next trapeze when Bruce entered the room, nails pricking into his skin as he held on tightly before loosening his grip for a somersault to the ground. His form was perfect just another reminder that he was slowly taking up prime form again but tiredness was still creeping faster into his body. For his own good, he tried not to show it.

“Here I thought you would not speak to me for a week," Dick greeted him casually while brushing off excess sweat with a fluffy white towel Alfred had gotten him.

Bruce grunted and Dick glared at him as Bruce walked nearer, not missing the way the blue eyes swept over his body as if searching for injuries. Normally Bruce was not as obvious, not as throughout - not even a paper cut could have evaded his gaze now.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh?” Dick replied, grin already elevating the corners of his mouth, “That’s new.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes in annoyance before his face fell into the frown they were all so familiar with. Dick feared it had only gotten deeper.

“Do you plan to go back to New York?”

Dick pulled the towel off his shoulders, giving his hands something to do while he thought about the question.

“Not yet. Why?” he asked curiously. Getting a read on Bruce had grown difficult again as if the expressions he hid behind had changed after all those years.

“As you know Cassandra and Stephanie will be out of the country for a while. And Tim will be in space with the Titans for a few weeks.”

Dick bit his lip, frowning. He had not left just to get sucked back into the fold but he recognized that Bruce could use a helping hand and Gotham was his home despite everything. Not to mention, the Enabler would use the situation to his advantage.

“If you need me I’ll stay,” Dick accepted with a shrug. Bruce stared at him for a little longer, doing that sweeping gesture again and then he turned. Dick did not let him get far, grasping his biceps and planting himself into the opening Bruce had unwillingly given him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, not even expecting an answer but, before he had any time to agonize about Bruce' stoicism, a hand reached towards him pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. His own grip faltered eyes wide in shock.

Bruce could cling and cry and rage as much as the next hero, but only in the moment and that moment had passed between them days ago.

Bruce knew that too, jaw tensing and relaxing. Dick dug his nails deeper into the strong arms, pleading with everything but words because he knew just a sound would make him pull away and then Dick would have lost him like so many times before.

“Every time I sat down beside your bed, hoping you would wake, I wondered if I should have killed the Joker years ago."

Dick swallowed, body thrumming with restless energy. He knew those words, had heard them after Jason died after Barbara got shot and again after Jason came back. He closed his eyes and then he pulled back far enough to look him in the eyes.

"You still remember the time I nearly killed the Joker?" he asked softly, hand clammy when he rested it on top of Bruce' shoulder, "When he threatened to get Tim like he got Jason? You brought him back because I had no right to decide over his fate."

“If I had let you do it then,” Bruce began and he seemed so serious; Dick would have none of it.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, fingertips pressing into his shoulder, “The path you have been going all these years, the path you taught us, has never been wrong. It’s what makes us heroes.”

Bruce kept looking at him or through him, Dick was not sure anymore and whatever words Bruce thought he did not say.

"You are right," Bruce relented, "but you nearly died in my arms and seeing you in that bed, unmoving for months, made me wonder if I was just too weak to ever kill the Joker… if I ignored all he has taken from me in order to justify my own maxim.”

Bruce' voice was a whisper between them, a secret shared in the tiny space and they stood quiet like this, breathing the same air until Bruce lowered his hand and turned away.

Dick stared after him, no words leaving his twisted lips. The towel had long since dropped to the floor beside him.

* * *

 

**"You'll have to face him eventually."**

 

* * *

“Did anything happen while I was comatose?” The question rushed over his tongue between one bite of cereal and the next. “Was he different?”

Alfred opened his mouth and then closed it again, a pained expression on his face.

“He was heartbroken. Did you expect it would leave him cold?”

Dick winced at the subtle accusation and felt bad in a second.

“That’s not it,” he mumbled, slowly lowering the spoon back into the milk.

Alfred frowned, towel halting against the plate he had been drying. With a soft clink of porcelain, Alfred settled down on the table as well. Dick twisted the spoon in his hand. The dark old eyes watched him.

"I know he is still hurting. I'm not blind," Dick whispered, pulling his hand from the spoon.

Alfred sighed, suddenly looking even more tired than usual. If Dick had not woken up worrying about Bruce, he would have started to worry now.

“Alfred, you can tell me,” he tried, squeezing his hand _. Please. Please just tell me._

“Of course,” Alfred replied, looking at his hand and squeezing it as well, “Master Bruce loves you very much, Master Richard.”

Silence rang as Alfred remembered... something, and a wry smile appeared on his lips.

“He surprised himself, I think.”

Dick wanted to tell him that he was not special, not the golden boy, not the favorite, no one true confidant to Bruce, not even his successor but he did not because he had wished he was all that for more years than he would ever admit. Every person Bruce took under his wing was important; he had just been the first.

* * *

 

**"You still have the wingcycle, don't you?"**

 

* * *

Being in costume after so long felt more than good, it was simply fantastic. He was feeling trapped in the manor, had wished to escape into the night for days.

“And where do you think you are going?” Batman asked, walking out of the shadows with crossed arms. Dick glanced down at his blue domino, caught securely in one of the gauntleted hands. It was quite an effective way to keep him in the cave. Dick had to admit that.

“Bruce,” he began, close to pleading but Bruce just held up his hand before he could say more.

“I want to see your skill level before I allow you to leave.”

The argument was not unreasonable by any means but Dick's defenses shot up anyway, trapping his rationality somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Oh come on Bruce, in New York, I would be alone,” he said, voice full of disbelieve as he walked closer.

“New York is not Gotham,” Bruce countered but there was fondness in his tone when Dick attacked him to get the missing piece of his uniform.

The first few moves of the fight were easily dodged by Bruce and it was an unexpected hit to Dick’s pride that Bruce did not even try a counterattack.

“You are slow,” Bruce commented, letting the domino disappear inside his suit to catch his fist and Dick growled, kicking him in his chest. The move was less powerful than normal and Bruce easily caught his leg, twisting him and throwing him a few feet away.

Dick landed on hands and feet, running up again and jumping over him. He grinned, catching the cape and pulling Bruce to the ground. One hand grasped for the domino planning to roll away but the advantage was over too quickly. Bruce did not wait, did nothing but hit the center of the blue bird spreading over his chest with the back of two fingers. Dick let go instinctively, breath catching in his throat as he remembered the pain and the feeling of suffocation with such clarity his sight nearly turned black.

Dick pulled in a breath, ignored the phantom pain with voiceless irritation, eyes blazing and teeth gritted.

“Your wound might have healed but you haven’t,” Bruce said firmly and Dick laughed, shrill and hollow.

“I’m not the only one,” he seethed but Bruce ignored the hissed words much to his chagrin.

“Someone else would have used the hesitation to kill you. You know, you can’t be out there with such a weakness,” Bruce warned as Dick stepped nearer again.

“What if you had returned to New York already? Would I have had to scrape you off the streets because you lost your grip on the hook after an unexpected jolt?” Bruce accused and Dick narrowed his eyes, hands turning into fists.

“Don’t talk to me as if I don’t know what I am doing! I’m not a child, Bruce!” Dick was already so close to him, leaning into his space. He ripped the mask out of the gauntleted hand. “And even if I were, I’m not yours!”

They both knew he would not leave in a costume tonight even if they screamed their voices hoarse. Dick hated him in that moment because anger always hurt less when Bruce decided not to confine into him.

“I know you miss it,” Bruce said all tense and cut words, when Dick came back into the cave without wearing his costume and Dick looked at him with a raised eyebrow, a derisive snort leaving his lips.

“You belong on the streets and I will never take that away from you.”

"Save your honeyed words for the new kids you picked up," Dick replied, gazing at the screen of the Bat-computer instead of Bruce. “If you can use words all of a sudden, why keep me here in the first place?”

He got no reply, only another long silence before Bruce pulled the cowl over his head and Dick turned enough to look at him. Batman would never not be massive, a mixture of a dream and a nightmare – untouchable. How could he have hoped to be what Bruce was to Gotham?

“Stay on the computer?” Batman asked and Dick blinked; staring up into the white lenses, he knew, he would never answer no.

**Author's Note:**

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